You once again quarreled with you mother. She threw your passport, money, a bag of things in your face, and kicked you out of the house. It was evening and a downpour outside. You were sitting silently under a ledge against the wall of one of the shops when you felt someone lift an umbrella over your head.

"Well, well, well. Poor little. Did you quarrel with Mom again?" a familiar teasing voice was heard.

Looking up, you saw your best friend, Scaramouche, living nearby.